Fragments of Creation
by DancingGroot
Summary: When Mzar, resident Elder Scroll keeper at the tower of Mzark, slips and ends up being magically transported to Skyrim's borders nearly 4000 years in the future, and is blessed by the divine Akatosh along the way, who knows what could happen? Rated M for violence and possible future semi-sexual themes. [M!Dragonborn x F!OC] [M!OC x Lydia] [F!OC x Jordis]
1. Prologue 1

**So hey, first fanfiction here, don't go too hard on me!**

**It basically encompasses the story of the dragonborn Dwemer, and what happens after he finds out about his blessing. I don't want to reveal too much, so read on and I hope you enjoy!**

Alduin POV

He surveyed the world below silently, brooding almost, yet savagely gleeful, as his kin were slain beneath him. He was the world eater after all, so what could be expected of other than a love for destruction? The betrayal of one of his most trusted advisors had caused the current bloodshed, and sweet as it was, it was time to reinstate the balance of the forces of nature.

His gentle glide transformed into a violent, steep dive, air roaring past him as he swooped. He opened his wings and swung down in a near graceful fashion landing on the wall with a crash, the earth trembling as he righted himself.

Before him stood three Nords. Two men and a woman, weapons raised. He spoke to them in the dragon tongue, before pushing with his powerful hind legs towards the sky.

Suddenly, he felt a force hit his body, and suddenly he was falling from the sky, blue flames flaying the flying magic from him. He heard the words "Joor Zah Frul" and realised what they meant.

The words "mortal", "finite" and "temporary" echoed around his head over and over as he was dragged to the floor. Dread filled him as he realised what was to happen. As quickly as it appeared though, it was gone, evolving into anger and rage. He shifted in the air and landed, and knew who had given the mortals their voice.

He knew that Paarthurnax had defected, but to go to an absurdity as far as teaching the mortals the ancient magic of the dov? It was unheard of. And once he had dealt with these three puny humans, he would see to it that it was never heard of again.

His claws dug into the soft snow atop the throat of the world and the three Nords attacked. First the woman, then the two men. he pit and slashed at them all, and saw the oppurtunity.

His head darted out like a cobra, jaws snatching around the woman's waist and teeth puncturing through her armour and into her gut like arrows into hay. He lifted his head and swung her lazily over his shoulder. She cartwheeled through the air and flew of the mountainside, dead.

he spun around to face the young man and opened his mouth, releasing a torrent of flame towards him, he ducked and buried himself in the snow, shouting to the other about an Elder Scroll.

He span around, confused, but realised too late what was happening. From his sleeve the old man had drawn a metre long golden tube, studded with amethysts. He opened the side and unrolled the scroll.

Its surface blazed white with magic and suddenly the dragon felt a rushing, pulling sensation it dragged him along before it picked up speed, dragging him into the portal that had opened behind him. He was dragged through and as the portal closed a bright flash exploded forth from the spot where he had been.

The dragon turned around and all he saw was a burning white glow, with streaks of green rushing past. He tried to figure out where he was before the pulling sensation returned and he was blasted out of wherever he was.

**A/N: I hoped you enjoyed that! It was interesting to write from the POV of a dragon, especially in such a chaotic scene. I tried to include Alduin's enjoyment of destruction in, but I'm not too sure how well I did. Anyways, reviews/favourites are appreciated! Till next time!**


	2. Prologue 2

**Second part of the prologue. This will actually be from the POV of the Dovahkiin and as he is a Dwemer this will hopefully explain how he is still alive at the time of Skyrim. Enjoy!**

Mzar POV

His head was pounding. Last night had been the New Year's party and it been riotous. He remembered arriving at Alftand tower after the journey through Blackreach, and about 20 minutes of the start of the party. But as soon as the Dark Elves had arrived with their Shein, his memory became a nauseous blur of colour and sound.

He vaguely remembered stumbling somewhere in Blackreach, inadvertently activating a Steam centurion, which he managed to override, but after that event his memory returned to a blur until his awakening this morning.

Every step down the cold, stone hallway that lead to his place of work sent an agonizingly loud clunk echoing down the passage. He would definitely be getting all his boots enchanted with muffling spells after work.

As he emerged from the hallway into the open air of the caves, he sighed in relief. The soft moist mud and low lighting dulled the pain in his head. Unfortunately this did not stop the rings in his beard from jangling loudly. His footsteps made little noise as he walked parallel to the pathway trying not to stumble on the cobbles and cause a noise.

He was close to the Mzark elevator when a booming, enthusiastic voice filled his ears. The elevator guard, Nchard, called out to him. "Ho, Mzar! And how was your night?"

"Blurry" he replied drearily. The mountain of a man laughed heartily through the mask of his helmet.

"Same here. At least my jobs not as finicky as yours. Standing around all day isn't so bad. As long as none of the bloody snow elf bastards don't come begging for a few coins. Begging for a few beatings if you ask me" He laughed again.

Mzar Grimaced. Inside, He vehemently opposed the enslavement of the snow elves. He knew from the first time Falmer had turned up at Blackreach, begging for protection from the Nords, he knew that they had done something terrible to invoke the Nord's wrath. But that didn't stop him from emphasizing with them after they had been enslaved.

Now they prowled around the caves, their murky eyes the colour of scrambled eggs blindly staring into nothing. When they came crawling to the resident Dwemer, begging in their broken Falmeri for a few coins, He never hesitated to press a few into their hands.

"Yeah" he replied after a few moments. "One of them comes near me, the only thing I'll be giving them is a cracked skull" he lied. Nchard laughed in agreement.

"Well, you'd better be getting up to the tower. I hear that now it's a new year, it requires some extra maintenance."

"Oh shit, I nearly forgot about that. Thanks."

"No problem" the guard replied as he pulled the lever downward. A mechanical clunking filled the air and a hiss of steam was released as the elevator descended from above. He stepped inside and braced himself against the centre pillar. The same series of clunks and hisses sounded as he was lifted to the external tower and deposited at the entrance hall.

He stepped out of the elevator and strode toward the doors to the Lexiconory. He stopped at the Lexicologist's log and paused. It was a thick tome, about half the pages were filled. It dated back to the Merethic era, when Felldir the Old entrusted an Elder Scroll to the Dwemer.

Mzar was the 19th Lexicologist to log his visits to the Elder Scroll. His job paid very well, as it required him to clean and maintain the Elder Scroll, as well as transcribe the Lexicon, Which could be very dangerous. He owned a large apartment, one of the highest available in external Nchuand-Zel.

He turned to the current page and wrote down his name, the date, and the number of visits he had made.

_Mzar | 1st of Morning Star, 1E 142 | 1,339_

He proceeded to open the door into the Lexiconory, and ascend the ramp. When he reached the top, he began to enter the sequence that accessed the Elder Scroll containment unit. As it clunked down, the noises caused yet another wave of hangover-induced pain to wash over him.

He put a hand to his forehead as he walked to the now open containment unit. The Elder scroll was inside, and he began the job of cleaning it. he unlatched the sides and opened the casing, unrolling the shimmering scroll. He began the task of meticulously cleaning it, using a wet brush to clean any grime of magical residue out of the grooves in the paper.

His head still pounded, and his hand trembled as he worked. If he so much as touched the scroll in the wrong place, the results could be disastrous.

As the last of the water ran off his brush, he stretched out an arm, reaching for the pot of water he had on the floor next to the chair he was sitting on.

His hand however, found nothing but space where it should have found resistance, and continued on without halt. As his arm stretched to its limits he turned, confused at where the pot of water was. As he turned, his balance shifted and he fell from the chair.

Instinctively, he grasped for anything that would keep him upright. Little too late did he realise that the thing he grasped was the Elder Scroll's magic infused material

His eyes filled with a blinding white light, streaked with pale green, and he felt like he was falling horizontally, spinning down an elevator shaft of pure burning brilliance. He turned to face what he was rushing towards, but was greeted by a crimson-coloured seal, a dragon with wings that formed a diamond.

Suddenly, he felt as if his entire body was having the skin ripped from it, like his blood was turning to magma in his veins. The same seal that was before him had become branded over his heart and he heard a voice somewhere in this ethereal tunnel shout "Dovahkiin".

The seal in front of him shattered into a hundred pieces of red hot steel and disappeared into the sides of the tunnel. He heard a rushing, behind him, followed by a roar, and soon enough a huge black comet sailed past him, unravelling and becoming a spiky black dragon.

As the dragon past him he saw it disappear, they had both reached the end of the tunnel. He exploded forth from it, and his ears filled with a ringing noise. All he remembered seeing before he passed out were to dragons, the black one flying away from a smaller, surprised looking grey one.

As he spun off the mountain that the dragon sat on, all he remembered seeing was the trees rushing to meet him, a small camp nearby with men clad in furs and blue cloth walking around. He then hit a branch, breaking his falling and knocking him out cold.

Imperial Soldier POV

"Captain!" She called to her officer. "I think I've found a Thalmor informant" Her commanding officer approached, "Is he still alive?" she asked.

"He's breathing. Stormcloaks must have used him for information, and then double crossed him and beat him down. Treacherous bastards." She replied.

"Probably right. Even if he was double crossed, he still aided the enemy. Get him out of those ruined robes and put him in some rags, then pack him in a cart with the rest."

"Yes maam" she replied, hoisting the elf out of the ditch near the camp. She stared down at him as he redressed him, wondering about the rings in his beard. They appeared to be made of Dwemer metal.

She considered taking some, but then realised they would be worthless, any half-decent adventurer could scavenge for bits of Dwemer scrap around a Dwarven ruin. Still, she wondered about them, it wasn't like High elves to grow beards, much less decorate them in such a way.

"Oi, Hadvar!" she called to her brother, "Gimme a hand over here with this informant. He's heavy."

Her brother approached. "You're doing great around here. Fitting in nicely. I didn't think you would, given, y'know, the thieving and all, but really. You seem to be enjoying yourself."

She rolled her eyes. Just because she was a thief, didn't mean that she couldn't fit on with the Imperial Legion. She and her brother covered up is horribly bruised and bloody back, then hoisted him up into the cart. One of the prisoners spoke up.

"Well well, if it isn't Jytte." It was Ralof, one of the men from the town. She had left him dumped 5 years ago, after a short relationship in which he was really clingy and she was distant. "Still stealing hearts? Or as I've heard, anything you can lay your hands on, you little thief" Hadvar punched him in the face.

She heard the captain call that they were leaving. She climbed atop her horse and began trotting with the convoy.

**A/N: Well I hope you all enjoyed that. It's longer than my other chapter by far, and it introduces two new characters. Pretty nifty huh? I think that Ralof is going to have a bruise on his face for some time after that punch from Hadvar. Anyway, review, favourite, follow, eat a slice of bacon, whatever. But seriously, leave your thoughts. Until next time!**


	3. Chapter 1: Ruminations of a prisoner

**Hola! This chapter starts at the same time as the game, with The Dragonborn tied up in the back of the cart. Enjoy!**

Mzar POV

His back throbbed. Each beat of his heart caused the pain to spike, and then fade. He didn't care though. He knew he was lucky to be alive. He had fallen from a very high height. He knew that he had fell for at least ten seconds. He tried to remember what happened after falling, or what he had seen, but he guessed that he must've had some short-term memory loss.

He remembered what caused the fall, but not much after that. The Elder Scroll had teleported him, and the black dragon, to the top of a mountain. Whereas the dragon gracefully exited the portal, he was blasted from it.

He also remembered the experience with the dragon-shaped seal. It was still burned onto his chest. Luckily for him it didn't burn though. He was currently stuck in a cart with three Nords.

Two of them were dressed in rags, one in leather and blue cloth, and the other in furs and grey wool. The one wearing the grey woollen tunic had a gag in his mouth.

The one in armour, the blue cloth and leather, spoke up. He had a bruise on his jaw which slightly slurred his speech.

"Fucking High Elf scum" he spat at Mzar. A surge of anger pushed through him. He hated being confused with High Elves. Those pompous brats enraged him to no end, rudely enquiring about his Elder Scroll. He wasn't worried about it. Once it detected that nobody was in the Lexiconory it would automatically pack itself away in the sky dome.

Mzar glowered at the Nord. "The fuck do you think your looking at, you don't deserve to lay your eyes on me, Thalmor twat." Mzar spring forward, ramming his head into the Nord's nose. He gave a shout and leaned back. "I'm not an Altmer you imbecile, anyone could tell that."

"Explain your golden skin then" the Nord said arrogantly. He thought he had won.

"My skin is golden because I'm a Dwemer. And High Elves all have eyes that are a shade of gold. Mine are green." he responded.

The Nord laughed. "You humour me; I'd rather fight with the empire than believe an Altmer pretending he's dwarf-kin"

"Why is it so hard to believe I'm a Dwemer then?" He was positively curious. A trait of being born with Dwarven blood.

"Because the Dwarves have been extinct for almost 4,000 years!" The Nord exclaimed.

It was Mzar's turn to laugh. "Extinct? Are you joking? You must've been living under a rock if you think we've gone extinct."

The Nord looked at him incredulously, almost condescending. The look you would give someone who was mad.

Mzar felt an unfamiliar feeling take hold of him. He took a while to figure out what it was. Then it struck him. It was doubt. "When did the dwarves go 'extinct?" he asked. His tone had changed, it was breathless, a murmur.

The Nord sensed this and calmed down a little. He leaned forward, "The historians speculate that it was sometime around 1E 170. All that's left are their cities, and their machines."

Mzar's doubt increased, and is advanced Dwemer mind went to assembling his facts. He realised that Elder Scrolls didn't experience the effects of time, as the scroll that he cleaned never got dusty inside its casing. it only got dirty when it collected information, and that was in the form of magical residue, or when he transcribed it to the lexicon, when the Dwemer reading equipment traced along its edges.

"What year is it?" He asked the Nord.

"4E 201, 27th of Last Seed, I think, it's been a few days since I could measure the stars."

Mzar thought hard. According to this Nord, his species had gone extinct 30 years after he was last cleaning the Elder Scroll. He didn't know how long the eras had been between then and now, but he presumed they had been around 1000 years long each.

He was drawn back to his thoughts on how Elder Scrolls weren't affected by time. Perhaps he had been wrong, and Elder Scrolls could do more than ignore time. Perhaps they could _influence_ it.

He knew that when Alduin the World Eater had been defeated by Felldir, he had completely vanished. What if he hadn't vanished, and had been sent forward in time to an unspecified date, and this would have affected the Scroll, effectively imprinting the date on it, and when Mzar touched the Scroll he was sent forward to the same time Alduin was.

It would explain the colossal black dragon he saw. He had read descriptions of Alduin and the dragon he saw matched them perfectly.

"That's impossible" he muttered quietly. His ruminations were interrupted by the sound of an Imperial voice piercing the air ahead of him.

"General Tullius sir! The headsman is waiting!" He called from above the gate into a small village

"What?!" Cried Mzar. He turned around in a panic. "I can't be executed! Are you fucking _insane_? I've done nothing wrong!"

His complaints fell on def ears. The Nord across from him chastised him, "Face your death with some courage, Elf." He spoke the last word with more venom than the other ones.

Misery overtook him. He was to die alone, the last of his species, with valuable knowledge on Elder Scrolls, Likely never to be reunited with any of his family, friends, or the home he loved so much in Nchuand-Zel. It was a sad thought.

The cart rolled to a halt. He had reluctantly accepted his fate, but the thief ahead of him in the line babbled incoherently about rebels and some of the Nordic divines.

His rambles were cut short when he sprinted from the line. A well placed arrow through the back of his neck stopped his run.

As the names were called forth, he noted the names of his companions. The Nord who he headbutted was named Ralof, the gagged man was Ulfric, Jarl of Windhelm. The man who had run was Lokir.

As he was called forward, the name caller of the list called him forth. He looked confused. "What is your name, Altmer?" he asked.

"Mzar, and I don't associate with High Elves." he replied.

"What should we do captain?" The man asked to the woman next to him. "The block" was the reply she gave.

"We'll make sure your remains are returned to Summerset Isle" the name reader said to him.

"No." He replied "If I am to be executed, I would respectfully request that my remains be returned to a Dwemer stronghold."

"Very well. Easier than shipping half way around the continent." The man offered. He was ushered forward in the line. Where a man in gilded, golden armour was speaking to the gagged man, Ulfric.

Embossed over the man's sternum on his breastplate was the same seal that had been branded above his heart. He pondered what it was, waiting for his inevitable execution. He noticed his back wasn't hurting anymore. He pondered why.

**A/N: Okay, so that's it for today. I'm going to update daily, I think. At least for the first few months. I'll probably end up slowing down after a while. I hoped you liked that little hint at the end towards the regeneration factor in Skyrim. Next chapter will also have some Jytte POV. But for now I'm going to leave you with this. Rate/Review please! Hope you enjoyed!**


	4. Chapter 2: Mzar's Great Leap

**Hello! This chapter should be nice and long, as it interchanges between my current two POV characters. Hopefully you'll like the way it's set out. Enjoy!**

Jytte POV

She stared at the Altmer from across the keep's courtyard. Her hand rested on the hilt of her dagger, stuck into her belt. She wondered what he was thinking. She nudged her brother next to her and whispered.

"What's his name, Had?"

"Who?" he responded quietly.

"The Altmer, the one with the rings in his beard."

"Oh. Says his name's Mzar. Odd fella, from what I've gathered."

"Whaddya mean odd?" She enquired.

"Well y'know how the high elves always seem very...superior? Well we offered to have this one's remains taken back to Summerset Isle for a proper burial, and he just asked to be dumped into the nearest Dwemer ruin. Weird dont'cha think?

"Well the rings in his beard are Dwemer metal. Perhaps he's some sort of historian?

"How would you know if they were Dwemer metal or not? They look like gold to me." Hadvar said.

"As a thief you learn to spot the difference to between fake and real gold. They aren't gold." She responded.

"Whatever..." Hadvar grumbled. He didn't like being reminded of his sister's preferred pastime.

From somewhere up in the mountains there was a deep rumbling noise. Like some sort of trumpeting noise.

"What the heck was that?" Hadvar asked aloud.

The General turned around, gazing up at the mountains. His eyes narrowed as he turned back to face Ulfric Stormcloak. "Nothing." He spoke over his shoulder. "Carry on."

The General motioned for The Captain to start with the execution. "Give them their last rites." She ordered to The Priestess of Arkay standing next to her. As the priestess began to speak, a Stormcloak barged forward. "Spare me" He said.

The captain pushed him down onto the block. As The Headsman's axe took of his head, the roar could be heard again. "Avalanche?" She murmured to Hadvar. He didn't look very sure.

The Altmer was called forward. He moved to the chopping block with a sigh. He didn't seem very bothered by all of what was happening.

Mzar POV

His mind was elsewhere as events transpired around him. He was more bothered by the dragon-shaped seal than losing his head. He couldn't die without questions unanswered.

He heard his name called and mindlessly strode towards the chopping block. He sighed as he let his head rest on the rough wood. He heard the shifting of The Headsman's robes and prepared for the blow. His anticipation grew but the blow never came. Instead he heard a shout from one of the Imperials.

And then his world erupted in flame.

Jytte POV

As the headsman raised his axe, the noise resounded again. It was much closer. suddenly she heard shouts of "Dragon!" and "Divines save us!"

The Headsman's axe never came down. The tower behind her shook and all were thrown forward by the force. She flipped around and spun out her dagger gracefully, and her eyes widened at what she saw.

A Dragon that looked to be carved from pure ebony gazed down at them, its eyes as red as blood. It opened its mouth and spoke in a grand, booming voice of another language. As the last syllable escaped from it's mouth, the sky hazed crimson and boulders the size of horses began to fall.

She sprang forth and sprinted up the road from whence they came. The dragon had taken off and the tower that it had been perched on had began to lean precariously.

She sprinted with all of her speed up the road. As she ran past she could hear the tower crumble behind her. She was safe.

And completely separated from the rest of the group. Which meant no more following orders.

Mzar POV

He fell to the floor, vision blurring, and saw a shape dart past him behind the tower as it crumbled. He heard a roar, close enough now that he recognised it: He had heard it when the Elder Scroll had teleported him!

He sprang up and saw an obsidian-like tail snake behind a tower. It was all he needed to confirm that it was the black dragon.

He sprang up and sprinted for the tower, barging through the doors and up the stairs. Hopefully at the top there would be some other way down.

He ran up the stairs and heard started climbing a pile of rubble at the top. He squeezed himself through as the wall exploded behind him, and the dragons flame filled the room.

He continues to ascend the tower and emerged on the top. Nearby was a small table and under it a guard had left his dagger.

He threw himself under the table and managed to grab the dagger. He managed to position it so that he could cut through the leather binding his hands. He cut through and shook his hands of the shredded bindings. He snatched up the dagger and a nearby pair of boots, ramming his feet into them.

He risked a glance back over his shoulder. He saw the tower that had fallen, the one that someone darted under. On the other side of the rock barricade a woman in Imperial armour was sprinting up the road, in the opposite direction to where everyone else was going. Smart.

He glanced over the edge of the tower. and saw a thirty foot drop onto a straw roof. Thankfully it was not burning. He realised that one side of the straw roof peaked out over the village walls. If he slid down it...

He realised that it was his best option and took the jump.

He dropped through the air and hit the thatch at an angle, sliding down it on his side. As he neared the drop over the wall, he turned to his front and took a fistful of the straw.

He halted at the edge of the roof, clinging on to the straw. All of his body apart from his hands was dangling off the roof.

He had been right. This house was not a residential one and it's back wall was actually a part of the perimeter wall of the town. He looked down and saw a ten foot drop into some shrubs. At the bottom of the wall there was a hole blown through.

He released his grip and dropped into the bushes. He emerged from them and peered through the hole in the wall.

He saw a bar, now slightly ruined by the wall falling away from it, and two large mead kegs. The building was a tavern.

He jumped inside and found it desolated. He crept down to the basement and found it empty too. All that was inside were a few tables, a bookshelf, a wardrobe and an alchemy lab.

He sprinted in and snatched up a knapsack lying on the floor. He stuffed into it some proper clothes, a change of boots, and a bulging coin purse that had been under the bar, He also found a sack full of flour.

He emptied it and threw in all the food he could fit, then under the blade of his dagger he crushed some ice wraith teeth that he found by the alchemy lab and threw the fragments in as well. It would do to keep the food fresh for a while.

He put the sack of food in the knapsack and ascended the stairs, changed and with a knapsack with a change of clothes, food and around a hundred gold.

He hopped out of the hole in the wall and drew his dagger cutting at the undergrowth as he fled from the scene of carnage. He glanced up through the branches and saw the dragon fly north.

Jytte POV

She glanced the High Elf atop the roof of a tower on the other side of the wall of rubble. after that she had turned and started jogging backwards out of the town, up into the Pale Pass, the crevasse in between the Throat of the World to the north and the Jerall Mountains to the south.

She was heading east through the pass, with the Throat of the World on her left. She knew where she was headed. Once she emerged from the pass, it would be a few hours of walking south-southeast to Riften. She was going back home.

**A/N: Hoped you enjoyed that! I didn't want it to end with the Dovahkiin and Hadvar escaping the usual route, so I mixed it up.**

**Mzar dropped off the north wall by jumping onto and sliding down the roof of Vilod's ****house, ****which he can be seen standing on the porch of during the execution. The Inn is what you jump into, and that is on the opposite side of the tower. But in this Fic I've decided that Vilod's house would be the inn and the original inn didn't really matter. Mzar is currently headed aimlessly north.**

**Jytte on the other hand fled up the road that comes into the east of Helgen(the same one Lokir tries to flee up) and is going through the Pale Pass (which is actually a traversable route in the game). She's headed to Riften, which is for those who didn't know the home of the Thieves Guild.**

**Phew, that was a long author's note! I thought I should explain because I think it may get a little disorientating at some points. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed! Please leave a favourite/review to tell me what you think. See ya!**


	5. Chapter 3: Back in buisness

**¡Hola! This chapter I think will be mainly Mzar focused; I may find a spot to introduce one of my other 2 OCs. Hope ya like!**

Mzar POV

He had meandered north through the wilds north of Helgen for a few days, setting snares for rabbits when he ran out of meat. He hadn't seen the dragon since his escape. One day he stumbled upon a small village nestled near a river, surrounded by pine forest.

"Ho, wanderer!" The blacksmith called as he entered through the town gate. "Care to take a look at some finely crafted weapons and armour?"

Mzar walked up to the man. He was quite large and had dirty blond hair and a beard.

"Name's Alvor." He said. "It's nice to meet you. I'm Mzar".

A man's head snapped up. He was in the corner of the porch, sharpening a dagger.

"Prisoner!" He shouted, jumping up with the dagger pointed at Mzar. He was tthe man with the list from Helgen.

Mzar took a step back and whipped out his dagger, reaching around his belt for an axe he had found. "Stay back." He said calmly.

The man lowered the dagger slightly. "You were at Helgen." He said. "Tell him what happened." He jerked his head at the smith.

"Hadvar, enough! We've been through this before. You need to rest a few days. You must've hit your head hard during the Stormcloak raid. And that's exactly what it was. A raid. Not some thrice-damned dragon."

"It was a dragon." Mzar said; an air of solemnity in his voice. Hadvar's not crazy. It tore Helgen to the floor.

Alvor turned to him, eyes narrow. "Why would I lie to a stranger I just met? Especially when defending a man who just pulled a knife on me?"

The questions hung in the air between the three. "Impossible." Alvor muttered, turning, a hand coming to his forehead.

Hadvar laid the knife on the table, and Mzar sheathed his own dagger. "If that was really was a dragon, then someone needs to inform the Jarl at once."

"Where does the Jarl reside?" Mzar asked. He had been hoping too find a largely populated area, where he could trade some of the items he had gathered.

"Whiterun. It's a city a few miles away. Over the ridge, on the other side of the river. If you'd take word to the Jarl, I'd be grateful."

"I had been planning to find somewhere big, with lots of markets. I'll set off on the morrow." He was relieved that he would be getting to a city.

"Here." Alvor handed him a bag "Those are some provisions for the trip"

He thanked Alvor, stepping out of the porch and heading out of the village. He hoped this Whiterun journey wouldn't take too long.

He had heard of Whiterun before, but had never visited it. He knew it lay somewhat in central Skyrim, but Blackreach was far to the North East, and his actual home in Nchuand-Zel was in the westernmost areas.

He slung the bag over his shoulder as he began to stride towards the bridge over the river. He stopped at the other side, glancing up ahead. There was a goat trail leading straight over the ridge, and a road leading around. He sighed as he began to ascend the goat rail. It was going to be rough going.

Jytte POV

She arrived at the gates of Riften. The guard stepped forth. "Visitor's tax." He said simply, holding out his hand.

"Tell Brynjolf he can shove it up his arse" She replied, walking forward and pushing open the gates.

She arrived at the graveyard thirty minutes later, and reached behind the empty coffin in the crypt. She grabbed up her old Thieves Guild armour and slid it on, shoving the Imperial leathers in it's place. It would be useful to have a bit of spare protection in case hers got damaged.

She crouched down an pressed in the seal on the coffin. A quiet sound of stone on stone resonated, and she ascended the stairs into the secret underground city that was the Riften Ratways.

**A/N: Sorry to cut it short guys, but tonight I didn't have enough time to upload a proper chapter as I was busy. Hopefully I'll upload the other half of it tomorrow before I return to my normal length chapters. Hope you enjoyed, leave a review or favourite, follow the story if you're into it. See ya!**


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